


It's a Living

by sdwbf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwbf/pseuds/sdwbf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been cursed so he can only come when fucked by a dog. Sam finds he really, really likes watching. Not to mention ordering Dean around. Inspired by <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/spnkink_meme/21245.html?thread=4937725#t4937725"> this</a> prompt on the spnkink_meme. WARNING: Mostly Dean/dog sex!</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Living

**Author's Note:**

> For simplicities sake, this is a present day AU where back at the end of 1st season John managed to commit suicide with the colt while possessed by YED. So except for episodes dealing with monsters of the week, none of the events of the last 4 seasons occurred. Naturally, anyone killed by YED, his minions or the story arcs his actions led to is still alive so Ellen, Jo and Ash are all around.

Sam Winchester considered it fucking unfair that revelation came through a porno magazine, but he lived that sort of life. The kind of life where a simple salt-and-burn went sideways when a ghost turned out to be a witch with her powers ramped up instead of diminished by death. She'd done something to Dean while Sam was busy dealing with her remains. He knew it. Not because he could feel it in his own bones, but because Dean was a pretty pathetic liar when he was trying to lie to his younger brother, and only a complete idiot would buy the 'so she may have cursed this dude before you made her go up in flames' bit. Sam, on the other hand, was an excellent liar at all times and had no trouble at all avoiding pointing a finger at Dean-as-victim when he called Bobby Singer for help translating the fragments of ancient language Dean managed to remember.

Bobby had started researching at his end while Sam did what he could with his laptop while carefully watching his brother for any signs of trouble. Weeks of research and observation had come up with the same results – a whole lot of nothing. So Sam didn't think it unreasonable for him to feel a flash of irritation when the answer came to him in the guise of the newest issue of Dean's favorite porn magazine.

_Busty Asian Beauties_ was displayed prominently in a gas station shop near Fresno. They'd stopped to fill the Impala's tank and stock up on munchies before heading back to their usual Midwest hunting grounds. Sam spotted the glossy rag first and rolled his eyes, waiting for Dean to pounce on it with embarrassing glee. Dean paid for his coffee and a bag of donuts, then walked right by his favorite reading material and out the door.

Sam was not too proud to admit he gaped. Full on jaw dropped. What the hell? He stood there like an idiot for a minute before Dean stalked back into the store and snapped at him to get the lead out, they had miles to burn. Blinking, he managed a nod, paid for his own coffee, then hurried out to join his brother in the car.

Consigned to his usual shotgun station, he sat there letting his mind go over the events of the last month. Thirty days of diners, almost as many bars and an assortment of other spots the public gathered. Most of them complete with one if not two or three pretty, even beautiful women. And somehow, Sam had missed that Dean had failed to show interest in any of them. In fact the last time he could remember any serious flirting had been with the librarian in Phoenix. The great-great-granddaughter of the man-hating ghost they'd been chasing. The one who had turned out to be a witch. Damn, she'd cursed Dean with impotence. Must be hell on someone as highly sexed as his brother, and no wonder he hadn't told Sam what was going on. Because there were a lot of times Sam firmly believed talking made things better, but this was not one of them. But at least now he knew the curse's results which might make finding a way to break it easier. Showed what he knew.

*

They stopped for the night on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Sam made a dinner run while Dean did the usual secure the non-descript hotel room. He got lucky and hit the place between dinner rushes so it took far less time than he'd expected to grab some food, then get back. Apparently Dean had the same expectation of more time because when Sam walked in, he jumped up from the bed he'd sprawled on stuffing a magazine under the bed.

"Sorry, man," Sam said momentarily relieved to see the swell of his brother's half-hard cock distending unsnapped, but still zipped jeans.

"Need a shower," Dean muttered, his face bright red as he fled to the bathroom instead of doing his usual 'gonna jack off now' smirking saunter.

Relief vanished with the click of the door shutting. Had he gotten it wrong? Had Dean simply gone circumspect instead of celibate? Hell freezing over seemed more likely, but then again, they had seen stranger things. Irritated at yet another set back, he stalked over to the bed Dean had claimed and snatched up the poorly concealed magazine, his thoughts on writing graffiti all over it to make Dean pay for misleading him.

Except it wasn't about busty Asian women beautiful or otherwise. Dean's tastes had switched to German. Shepherds. It was one of those glossy 'special issues' designed to attract the eye of anyone all flushed with the wonder at their new furry bundle of joy and desperate to buy anything that even hinted about them. Not women, not porn, nothing but an over-priced magazine about dogs. And it had made Dean partially hard.

Okay, enough was fucking enough. Sam slammed open the bathroom door, then jerked open the shower curtain to reveal his brother shivering under a stream of icy cold water. "Dude, do you mind!" Dean tried to bellow, but it came out as more of a pathetic squeak.

Sam shut off the water, threw a couple of towels over the already frozen idiot, then hauled him back into the room. He shoved him down on the bed with enough force to make Dean bounce, then snatched up one of the towels Dean clutched and began rubbing him dry. "Start talking," he ordered.

Dean clenched his jaw either determined not to speak or to keep his teeth from chattering. Probably more of the latter since he wasn't trying to punch Sam's lights out over all the touchy feely drying. Sam gave him another minute to warm up, then, "Dean."

"No."

"Dude, you're jerking off to pictures of dogs."

His brother seemed to deflate, his expression mournful. "I can't."

Somehow Sam didn't think he was referring to the moral implications getting in the way. "So you are impotent."

That got him a glare. "What?" Sam protested. "You go from a sex addict to nothing and you don't think I'd notice?" He didn't bother mentioning how long it took him to notice.

"You not knowing how to have a good time does _not_ make me a sex addict," Dean snarled jerking away from him. And okay, maybe this wasn't the best time to have the 'Dean-is-a-sex-fiend and Sam-is-a-monk' argument. Especially since the way Dean was yanking on his clothes usually signaled his imminent departure.

"Sorry," Sam said, then went straight for the puppy eyes, "but I'm worried about you, Dean."

His brother had no more defenses for the puppy eyes now than when they were kids. He gave Sam a look of pure dislike. "I hate you so much right now."

"I can live with that, now start talking."

"Fine," Dean flopped back down on the bed and glared at the ceiling. "I haven't felt … anything since that bitch got at me."

Finally. "What exactly did she do?"

"She caught me in some sort of energy web – didn't even have to slam me up against a wall to keep me from moving." Dean looked offended by that like the lack of something solid behind him had been a great insult. "Then she used this wind to rip off my clothes."

"What?"

"Fucking freakiest thing I've ever been through," Dean sighed. "One minute I'm running for the door, then the next I'm hovering three feet off the ground while the air gets all handsy on me." 

Agatha Farrell's ghost had started screaming at him the moment she'd caught him. All sorts of shit about him being a worthless horndog out to defile women everywhere, but he would never have her great-great-granddaughter. "I wasn't even that into the chick," Dean muttered, "was just doing some friendly flirting to get the info we needed on Aggie."

True enough. Despite Sam's comments about Dean's oversexed behavior, he knew more than eighty percent of the time nothing came from his flirtations – although the follow through numbers were still annoyingly high. Dean flirted a lot.

"Once I was naked, she switched to that gibberish I told you about and the swirls of wind turned a sparkly purple." Or at least the one swirling around his groin had. He'd been unable to turn his head to see the rearguard action, but his whole ass had felt …weird, and it had gone far more than surface deep.

"No penetration though," Dean insisted. "At least it didn't feel like it." Hadn't even been unpleasant. Far from good, but he didn't feel like he'd been raped or anything. "Like I said. It was weird."

She'd finished the incantation, then let him fall to the floor. "That fucking hurt," he growled. No warning, like strings holding him aloft had been cut sending him crashing down onto an uncarpeted floor. "Bitch started ghost dancing all around me. Cackling about how I'd never be a threat to another woman again. 'Bout then you finally lit her up." He gave Sam a wounded glare of the 'what fucking kept you?' nature.

Sam flinched. "The graves weren't well marked."

"Whatever." He sighed. "Anyway nothing stirring since."

Sam glanced at the magazine, then back to Dean.

"For anything on two legs," Dean muttered, blushing – a sight Sam seldom saw. "Got a flutter when I saw that so I thought what the hell, but I couldn't …" he waved at his groin in a 'get it up all the way' gesture – and it really fucking annoyed Sam how easily he could read Dean's body language. If the aggravating jerk could manage to talk things through once a year or so, he might not need to come up with a translation for ever twitch and tick. "Bitch must have built some shit into the spell just to mess with me. Probably get the urge to buy silk panties next. Or something."

That sounded like a perfectly logical theory. So why did Sam have a bad feeling about this?

*

"So the idjit finally decided to come clean," Bobby's voice sounded through Sam's cell phone and he winced. So maybe he wasn't that much better at pulling off the 'friend of a friend' lie than Dean, but, hey, it was _Bobby._ Difficult to pull anything over on him.

"Yeah," Sam said, then gave him the details – except for the mild interest in the dog magazine. It hadn't happened again, and both of the brothers had resigned themselves to some new aspect to the sick mind game forced on Dean.

"Damn," Bobby muttered. "So much for what I've been able to translate."

"You translated some of the ritual?"

"Usin' some really obscure Enochian dialect, so the going's slow, but I'm pretty sure the phrase she kept repeatin' is 'horn of dog.' Must be her cusin' at him."

"Oh, fuck." Sam's unease rocketed into full-blown feeling of 'doom.' "Guess there's something else you should know."

After yelling at Sam for a good ten minutes for editing information, Bobby told him to get their idjit backsides to his place. Pronto.

*

Pronto turned out to take about two weeks. Sam knew Dean would have a meltdown when he found out Bobby knew about the magazine. And meltdown-Dean was an uncooperative Dean. No way he'd agree to actually go see the man. Which meant it was time for sneaky tactics.

Sam found a series of small hunts – more troublesome than deadly, but big enough for Dean to agree to purse them – that moved them closer and closer to South Dakota. As they traveled, Sam noticed Dean growing more and more aware of the stray dogs around him.

Every last one that drew his interest was male. He added that into the information on the curse's specifics. Unfortunately, information gathering time seemed to be growing short because when they finished up the first week of hunts, a hound mix nosing around a dumpster made an all too familiar gleam enter his older brother's eyes.

"Hell no!" Sam snapped manhandling Dean into the passenger side of the Impala, then burning rubber out of town.

"Jeeze, Sammy," Dean protested, "I wasn't gonna-"

"Yeah, you were," Sam cut him off, all too experienced with getting ditched for the babe-of-the-night when his brother got that look.

"Damnit, tempted doesn't mean doing!" Dean shot back, then flushed before hunching in on himself with a look of absolute misery. "God, I'm such a sick fuck."

It was one of those moments when Sam wanted to reach across the seat and pull Dean into a hug. But valuing his life, he settled for giving him a quick, comforting pat on the arm. "We'll find a way to break the curse, Dean," he insisted. "We just need some more time."

Dean didn't answer, but they both knew it was nearly impossible to lift a curse once the person who had cast it was dead.

Sam sighed. "Dean, a dog big enough to mount you is big enough to seriously hurt you, even kill you if it gets aggressive."

"I know." Words were soft and full of despair. Almost broke Sam's heart.

"Trust me, I'll fix this," he insisted.

Dean nodded, but stayed quiet, eventually pretending he'd fallen asleep – which never worked with either of them since both were all too familiar with the other's breathing rhythm when truly asleep. However, since he was every bit as awesome a brother as Dean, Sam not only honored the implied 'I can't talk about this right now' declaration, but he began making plans. Obviously, Plan A equaled break the curse. Plan B revolved around how to hook his brother up without risking having Dean's throat torn out.

Dog would have to be well-mannered, healthy with proof it had all its shots, no fleas. Carefully he considered each required trait and if it was far more selective than anything Dean had required from his human partners, well, that meant it was about time Sam took charge of his brother's sex life.

*

Their last case got them within a six-hour drive of Singer Salvage, so when they finished the salt-and-burn, Sam dropped a sedative into Dean's coffee. He woke up with a mile left to go, blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looked around, then exploded, "Fucking hell, Sam!"

He might have been able to bluff Dean into agreeing to the trip if he'd lied about Bobby knowing everything, but he'd decided not to risk Dean heading for the hills. That he'd drugged the coffee was all the proof anyone would have needed that he'd told all. "We need his help."

"No! Turn this car around!"

"We need his help." That's how they covered the remaining distance – with Sam repeating the phrase over and over while Dean shouted. Since it got them there and parked in front of Bobby's house, Sam could live with it.

He got out of the Impala and pointedly pocketed the keys – he'd already taken the precaution of doing the same with the spare Dean carried in his wallet in case of lockouts or police impounds. Dean didn't move, and again, Sam could live with it. He'd gotten him here as ordered. Bobby could coax him out of the car.

An excited yipping did it for him. Bobby had obviously gotten some sort of small dog after swearing he wouldn't get another after Meg killed Rumsfield four years ago –a day before their dad killed himself and the YED inside him. A moment later a small black and tan bundle of fur rocketed toward him. Not a small dog. A puppy, about two-months old, and if not a purebred Doberman Picher, he was pretty close to it.

"Hey there," Sam said, stooping down to offer his hand for a good sniff. The puppy quickly decided he didn't smell like a threat and allowed Sam the privilege of scratching his ears.

The car door opened, and the pup instantly abandoned Sam in favor of Dean, who passed the sniff test even quicker. "Where'd you come from, little guy?" he asked his voice sounding choked, because cute though it might be, the pup said loud and clear Bobby had determined there was no breaking the curse.

"He'll be your new boyfriend once he grows into the job," Bobby announced coming out of the house.

Sam generally liked Bobby's gruff, upfront style, but he really wanted to clock him one for that as Dean flushed, his head dropping, but not quite swiftly enough to hide the slide of a tear down his cheek. Bobby Singer had always quietly been as much a father to them as John Winchester, and since Dad's death he'd become even more important to them. The idea that he'd lost Bobby's respect would destroy Dean.

But in the next moment Bobby proved why he held such prominence in their lives as he stalked over to Dean, cupped his chin in his hands and forced Dean's head up enough for him to look into tear-bright eyes. "Now, you listen to me, boy," he said, "nothin' in this world is more important to me than you two idjits. Some damned fool curse forcin' you to date outside your species ain't changin' that a wit. Jimbo here ought to be proof enough of that."

Dean sort of crumpled into his arms and let Bobby hold him for a few moments until Dean remembered he was too macho for shit like that. Sam tried really hard not to be jealous of Bobby. He wasn't entirely successful.

*

Dean's hated chick-flick moment behind them, the three men sat down around Bobby's kitchen table for a manly beer and a bizarre conversation. "Bad news is that the curse is unbreakable," Bobby confirmed. "Worse news is that flutter of an erection you got was the start of a countdown clock on an internal meltdown that'll kill you if you don't consummate it."

Sam's stomach churned and again fought the urge to hold his brother in a useless gesture to protect him from anything and everything that would ever try to hurt him.

Dean pet the puppy curled up on his lap for a moment before asking, "How long do I have?"

"Best I can tell, about a year. Would have liked to have gotten an older dog, get it taken care of and you out of risk quick, but takes time to train a dog as much as I'd prefer your partners to be. And that's best done when their young."

Sam nodded, Bobby's thinking about they were looking for dogs with owners mirroring his own.

"Along those lines, I got a few things for you." He gestured toward a gallon jug filled with a cloudy liquid and a spray bottle sitting on the counter. "Basically, you're in heat. Longer you go without, stronger the scent will get and pretty soon Sam'll literally be beatin' off your suitors with a stick. This stuff will block the smell."

Bobby pulled a pendent out of his pocket and pushed it over to Dean. Silver image of a wolf's head dangled from it. Had a modern, masculine line to it so no one would find it strange for Dean to be wearing it. "This'll warm up when the right sort of dog is near. Unfortunately, it'll also counter the scent-blocker so things could get heat up fast."

"I'll keep him safe," Sam promised, then smiled when it made Dean blush. Jimbo seemed to find the sight as adorable as Sam did because he proceed to cover Dean's burning face with puppy kisses. Sam tried really hard not to be jealous of the pup. He was even less successful than he'd been with Bobby.

*

Six weeks slipped by while they did their thing and waited for Jimbo to grow into his sexuality or the right dog to come by. A decent plan given the circumstances, but it hadn't taken into account Dean's side of the 'in heat' problem. With each passing day he grew more and more distracted by his body clamoring for dog cock. Sam ended up picking up the slack until he was clearly the one in charge. All without a whine of protest from his older brother. Heck, he even ended up doing most of the driving since Dean didn't want to risk 'zoning out' and cracking up his baby.

Sam had to admit that although he wasn't wild about the reason, he really enjoyed being the boss. If nothing else, it had a novelty value to it – which was fucking annoying since he'd been bigger for years. (Dean had always countered with he'd been older even longer.) Yeah, it was nice getting his way – not that he usually didn't, but for the time being he got it without all the manipulation effort.

So when they found themselves sitting in the living room of Betty Peters of Brisbin, Montana, Sam did most of the questioning. They'd gone with their FBI covers to investigate a series of mutilation murders that suggested a Sikital. Fucking creature got off on pulling the arms and legs off its victims. While they were still alive.

According to the police database Sam had hacked into, the Widow Peters had 'seen something strange' from her front porch the night of the last killing. "I really didn't see much, young man," she said while pouring each of them lemonade.

Dean gave her a charming smile – those were so much a part of his nature that nothing could distract him so much he couldn't manage one – while Sam assured her, "Any detail can prove helpful, Ma'am."

"Well, then, let me think." She sat there with the look of concentration worn by grandmothers everywhere trying to guess what their favorite grandchild hand clutched in a chubby hand. She brushed her short silver-hair back from her face and Sam thought she'd look right at home in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting. "It was movement more than anything else. But strange. Like something big running with a limp."

Something. Not someone. "Any suggestion of color?"

She gave him a wry look over the top of her wire-rims. "Orange. It got close enough to a streetlight for me to think it was orange."

Definitely a Sikital. They'd need a bronze knife socked overnight in holy water and rosemary oil to take care of it. They'd been certain enough of the type of creature that they'd already started the weapon ritual. It would be ready in another five hours giving them plenty of time to stake out the creature's favored hunting ground before it's favored midnight killing time. Not the easiest job, but far from a hard one for them.

Sam opened his mouth to thank her for her time and the lemonade when the flapping sound of a fairly large doggie door came from the kitchen. "Oh, there you are, Pepe," Mrs. Peters said as a giant poodle walked into the room. Dark gray in color, Pepe had one of those ridiculous 'shaved body with fuzzy hair accents' favored in the dog shows. Always made Sam roll his eyes and wonder why anyone would do that to an animal. "Did you have a good romp outside?"

The dog padded over to her, leaning his head into her touch. Sam estimated Pepe's shoulder height at around 25-inches, then snapped his attention to his brother when Dean made a soft choking sound.

Dean's eyes had gone wide with a frantic look in them as his hand flashed to rest over his shirt-covered wolf amulet. Oh, fuck, it must have activated. Right in front of the sweet little old lady. They had to get out of here. Fast.

He grabbed hold of Dean's arm, intent on hustling him out the door, but Pepe moved even faster, darting over to Dean, then shoving his snout into Dean's groin. Instantly and obviously, an erection tented out the front of his brother's slacks.

Dean moaned softly, his hips lifting against the dog's sniffing nose.

Horrified, Sam swung his eyes to Mrs. Peters, his brain trying frantically to come up with some sort of lie that would make 'this isn't what it looks like' sound reasonable.

"Oh, wonderful!" she cried, clasping her hands in an overjoyed manner. "Pepe hasn't had a good fuck since Louise moved to Florida last winter."

The word 'fuck' coming out of her mouth made Sam's whole brain freeze up in a great big 'huh?'

"Pepe, sit!" She commanded and the dog immediately obeyed despite a whine of protest. "Manners, Pepe. A man's cunt needs something to ease your way." She pondered the problem for a moment, then smiled. "Olive oil should do the trick." She looked at Sam. "You get your bitch all stripped down and settled on the hearth rug over there. I'll fetch the oil."

She hurried off on her errand, then paused in the kitchen doorway when neither Dean nor Sam had moved. "Well, get to it, young man. Pepe's a gentleman, but he's got his limits."

Right. Deciding not to look a gift … dog in the eye, Sam pulled Dean up, tucked his brother's gun into the waist band of his own slacks, then started getting him out of the monkey suit Dean so hated. "So messed up," Dean panted, but he didn't fight Sam's efforts to strip him or guide him over to the indicated rug. Then he simply stood there, staring dumbly at the material under his feet.

"Down, Dean," Sam ordered, taking hold of the back of his brother's neck, then giving him a gentle, but firm push in the desired direction.

Dean dropped to his hands and knees, then showed enough brain power to spread his knees wide, lifting his asshole up. His glistening asshole. "Dude, are you already lubed up?" Sam asked dropping to one knee beside Dean to get a better look.

"Been like this for a few weeks," came the muttered answer.

Suddenly 'in heat' took on a whole new aspect, and before he could seriously think about what he was doing, Sam pushed a finger into Dean's hole. Slick, hot and yielded easily. "Holy shit, you really do have a cunt!" Wiggling his finger around in amazement.

"Now is not the time," Dean hissed irritation obviously freeing his words even as he pushed back against the finger impaling him.

"But-"

"Dude, I will end you if you don't shut up!"

"Oh, did you have some lube with you?" Mrs. Peters asked returning, bottle in hand.

Somehow this allowed Sam's brain to grasp he had a finger in his brother's ass. He withdrew it hastily and scrambled to his feet. "Um, yes, sorry, Ma'am. Pepe's appearance caught me off guard, but I always carry a small tube." All true. He patted the unused cylinder in his pocket, then grabbed a tissue out of a nearby dispenser and wiped his finger off.

"How thoughtful of you," she beamed at him. "Well, I guess we're all set. Pepe, go!"

Not needing to be told twice, the dog leaped over to Dean, then began lapping at his hole. Dean made a keening sound and pushed back to deepen the touch. A few licks ended the doggie foreplay, and Pepe jumped up, settling his weight over Dean. Once, twice, three times he jabbed his cock at his target, then a wail from Dean signaled success.

Pepe began thrusting, his hips pistoning with enough force to make Dean's body shudder with every inward stroke. "That's it, Pepe, fuck that bitch," Mrs. Peters chanted. "Fill his cunt up with your stud cock until he can't sit for weeks."

Sam's mind felt more than a little blown, and he wished Rule 1 for this sort of situation was not to never, ever leave Dean alone with a stud. Either Bobby or Sam had to be there, gun within grabbing distance. Dean had pitched a fit about overkill, but had given in eventually because a hunter didn't survive long without embracing the concept of worst-case-scenario equaled business as usual. His skin felt hot, his clothes too heavy or tight, and he wanted to scream at Mrs. Peters that little old ladies didn't talk about fucking man-cunts like that.

Dean and Pepe both yelped, making Sam jump, his hand going toward the gun in his shoulder holster, but the woman kept up with her color commentary, "That's it slut, take his knot."

Oh, yeah, knotted. Dean seemed to get off on the idea that his ass was now imprisoned by stud cock as he began to moan, and thrust back to meet each of Pepe's fast and furious strokes.

For his part, Pepe appeared too in to it to let up long enough to turn, keeping up the thrusting for the full twenty minutes they stayed knotted. When he finally pulled loose with a pop, Dean pressed his ass backward like he was trying to recapture the cock.

Mrs. Peters chuckled. "Don't you worry, beautiful. My Pepe's just getting started." The dog began lapping up the come oozing from Dean's ass, prompting more moans and backward thrusts. After a couple of minutes, he remounted Dean. He went at Dean's hole with the same previous enthusiasm, but this time he turned after they knotted, putting his ass to Dean's, while Dean writhed on the slowly spilling cock, milking it for every drop he could get.

"Bitch in heat," Sam whispered, then came in his suit pants only then noticing he'd gotten hard as a rock watching his brother getting fucked senseless by a dog. "Oh, God," he moaned, but Mrs. Peters chuckled.

"Oh, my, it is hot, isn't it," she whispered as they watched. "Never wanted to indulge in the act myself, but I so love to watch. And a gorgeous bitch like your partner makes it doubly delicious."

Pepe mounted Dean three times, his cock pulsing away inside of Dean for about an hour's time in total. Long enough for Sam to harden and come again – although this time he zipped out to the bathroom long enough to spill his load in Mrs. Peters' downstairs toilet. He cleaned himself and his boxers up as best he could, then returned to the living room in time to watch Pepe pull out of Dean, then head into the kitchen.

Mrs. Peters gave Sam an expectant look which he could only return with a blank stare. "Don't you think you should put the boy's plug in?"

"Plug?" he asked feeling five kinds of stupid.

She made a tsking sound. "Pepe's lovejuice will be oozing out of him for hours. Don't tell me you're going to make him sit in it all day?"

He flinched under her reproving look. "I um didn't expect. …"

She shook her head, then walked toward the kitchen. "You should take a page from the Boy Scout Handbook and always be prepared, young man, but I have an old towel that should do the job until you get him back to where you're staying."

She returned a moment later with a couple of faded dishtowels. Sam took them, then knelt down beside his dazed brother. Gently he cleaned up Dean's thighs and hole with one towel. He set the second in Dean's boxers before helping him into them. 'Like a menstrual pad,' he thought, then blanched worried Dean might gain the power to read minds and justifiably decide to kill him.

Slacks on, shirt, shoes without socks – Sam could carry the rest – he helped Dean to his feet. Dean slumped and Sam decided the hell with it, pulling his fucked out brother up over his right shoulder. 

Mrs. Peters handed him the rest of Dean's clothes and his holster, then she tucked a white card in his pocket. "The pass codes for my site," she said as if she totally expected him to know what she was talking about.

"Uh, thanks," he said, then got his brother out of there.

After sleeping a couple of hours Dean rallied enough for them to take out the Sikital without any problem. The next morning, while they waited for the stores to open so he could buy Dean a butt plug, Sam remembered the white card, and booted up his computer.

Turned out to be a site devoted to Mrs. Peters' videos of Pepe fucking a redheaded woman – Sam assumed she was Louise – and the one she'd taken of Dean getting fucked. His eyes boggled – he'd not even noticed a camera in the room – but he relaxed a little after he watched the video and found she'd never gotten a good shot of Dean's face. Just enough to hint at what a handsome man he was. She apparently had quite a following because the number of hits to her site for the ten hours since she'd posted Dean's vid was in the thousands. Hundreds left comments. Over the next few days, Sam read through each and every one of them. And a plan began to form.

*

Their next dog-encounter occurred two weeks later. This time with a Great Dane named Bruno. Not taken quite so off guard by the amulet's warning tingle, Dean had gotten out of the house of the nice middle-aged couple before the dog got a whiff of his crotch.

Sam assured the couple that they could take care of the poltergeist – an obnoxious versus deadly one – with no trouble if they would simply take a weekend vacation, but would they be good enough to leave Bruno behind? Dogs really helped pinning those pesky house spirits down.

Relieved, the Friedmans happily vacated the premises. Sam kept Bruno chained up in the backyard – both to keep him safe and off of Dean – while they planted the hex bags to banish the problem. Took a few holes in the plaster and around 20 minutes to finish the job. They spent the rest of the weekend with Dean getting fucked through the floor while Sam pretended not to watch. After each bout of sex, Sam would go to the bathroom to jerk off, then he spent some time repairing the holes in the wall. He also filmed every minute Dean spent hanging off the dog's tongue or knot.

Next was an Afghan Hound in Little Rock. Never caught his name, but he was happy enough to get into Dean's cunt when they slipped into the high-fenced backyard that he didn't mind the home invasion or Sam's camera while treating Dean to a prolonged session of afternoon's delight.

That was the thing about dogs – the taking went at a furious, rough pace, but the whole process took time leaving Dean well sated even when there was only one mounting. Although he obviously preferred a minimum of two. When the Collie in Billings mounted him for the fourth time, Sam found himself slipping into the same soft sex talk Mrs. Peters had favored.

"Take that stud cock, bitch," he murmured eyes flashing from where dog flesh penetrated human to the glazed blissful look on his brother's face. "Swallow it up with your hungry cunt, slut." Dean groaned loudly – they were in a basement this time so there'd been no need for him to wear the leather gag Sam had bought him to keep his vocal brother quiet when stealth needed to be part of the fucking – his back arching in a way that said 'knot entering now.' "Yeah, slut, ride his knot. Milk his cock and ruin him for any other bitch cunt."

It wasn't until Sam was editing the video and filtering out his own voice – courtesy of a program Ash had created – that it became obvious his moaning, writhing brother did both with more enthusiasm when Sam urged him on.

*

Getting fucked had always rocked Dean's world to give him a bad case of tunnel vision, so it didn't really surprise Sam it took three 'lucky' encounters with willing, watching owners in a two week period for his brother to catch on.

"Start talking, Sammy," he said when they got back to the hotel after a Husky named Sidney had fucked Dean for the better part of three hours.

Sam tried to play dumb. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Dean snorted. "I never got this lucky this often when I was with chicks, so you want to tell me how it is I'm getting fucked at least once every town we hit?"

The straight-forward approach always worked best after evasion failed. "The owners are fans and want to watch you get fucked in person."

Dean looked like he'd said something in Enochian. "Excuse me?"

Sam pulled out his computer, then booted up the website devoted to Dean's love of stud cock everywhere. The graphics all made it pretty self-explanatory. "You've been filming me?"

"Every time but the first, and Mrs. Peters provided that video." She's agreed to the upload for free copies of any encounter Dean had with a poodle – woman was very specific in her tastes.

Dean looked from the screen to his brother, then back to the screen. "Move," he said shoving at Sam to get him out of the chair.

Sam grumbled – he got to do the manhandling in this duo thank you very much – but yielded, deciding to let the site fill in most of the blanks. Like – "Dude, you're charging for people to watch these?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam shrugged. "Beats credit card fraud." The card they'd been using the last few weeks had a fake name on it, but Sam had actually mailed in a payment via electronic money order. First time since his brief years at Stanford.

A moment later Dean found the fee list for both DVDs and home visits, and his eyes boggled. They were outrageously high – although the Husky's owner had told him he needed to bump them up for such a beautiful, cock-hungry bitch like Dean and had slipped him an extra $300.

Dean blushed bright red as he began reading comments from his fans, but he had his 'this is sick and wrong, but intriguing' face on. When he finally looked up like he couldn't take any more in, Sam switched the site to their bank account. Dean's jaw dropped. "That much in six weeks?" he squeaked.

Sam shrugged again. "You're hot as hell and you know it, Dean."

He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to reconsider, then shook his head. "Sammy, this is dangerous. Someone could track us –"

"No, Ash designed things so only people into this sort of vid can find the site." Person had to search with a set of specific key words which triggered a trace and analysis by Ash's set up. Anyone who could remotely be deemed an accidental discovery or law enforcement never got close.

"Ash knows?"

Sam gently caressed his brother's face. "Baby, everyone in the hunting community will know eventually even without the site. And I needed Ash's wizardry to keep you safe."

"But-"

"Dean, enough," Sam snapped with the same authority he used when ordering Dean to his knees for a waiting stud. Then to soften the reprimand, he pressed a kiss to the top of his brother's head. "I'm handling it."

Dean dropped his eyes. "Okay, Sammy," he said softly and never protested again.

*

Things got easier with Dean in the know, so Sam started working on the suggestions left by Dean's fans. He bought Dean a leather collar the same shade as his jacket and fake dog tags for him to wear at each session. Role playing came next – the frightened lost bitch taken by the big bad stud that found her was the most popular. Sort of a perverted remix of _Lady and the Tramp._

In Muncie, Indiana, he filmed Dean's first doggie gang bang – four full hours of Dean being taken by five dogs one right after the other without a single moment's rest. Became their biggest selling DVD until the next version added two more dogs joining in on fucking both his mouth and cunt. Sam had jerked himself off until he was almost raw while he edited that one.

In April, Sam filed a masterpiece of fake corporation information with the IRS and paid their fair share of income taxes. Made him feel good despite the annoyance at the taxes owed for their income bracket. But more importantly he wanted to make certain that on the remote chance something went wrong no one could nail them for income tax evasion. Fraud, yes. Evasion, no.

They finished the year with 2/3 of their time spent hunting and the other third devoted to Dean's ass on offer to any owner with the money and smarts enough not to ask for a turn of his own with Dean. Been offered more than $20,000 for that service, but Sam politely – meaning he didn't try to dismember anyone – refused. Dean couldn't enjoy it, so it was off the table. Period. Stop.

In August, Bobby announced Jimbo was old enough to 'met the little woman,' so they headed back to South Dakota after taking care of a Wendigo getting active in Yellowstone. Went a lot smoother than the first time. Most things did. Beyond the improvements that could be chalked up to simple experience, the constant, thorough fucking seemed to settle Dean and give him a level of focus neither of them had known he'd lacked until he had it. Sam could say the same about himself when he cared to admit it, except his touchstone was taking care of Dean.

*

Jimbo ran out to greet them when they pulled into the salvage yard, but proved his training by not jumping on Dean the moment he slid out from behind the steering wheel. Nor did the dog bury his nose in Dean's crotch, although he sat there sniffing the air while Dean scratched his head.

"Long as the jeans stay on, he'll behave," Bobby told them as he walked out of the house.

Dean looked relieved. Sam knew him well enough to know he'd been worried Bobby's would turn into some sort of booty-call stopover instead of a place to relax when things got too intense. "Thanks, Bobby," Dean murmured, his manner almost shy.

"Jimbo, patrol," Bobby ordered and the dog took off, swiftly disappearing among the wrecks filling the salvage yards. "Well, don't just stand there, boys. Get your backsides inside."

Normal seemed the watchword of the day. They sat around drinking beer and filling each other in on the details of interesting or amusing hunts. Jimbo came in around dinner time giving Bobby a soulful look with his large brown eyes. Muttering about manipulative beasts, Bobby went off to the kitchen to feed him.

Dean nudged Sam with an elbow to the ribs. "See, that's what you always do to me with your damned puppy eyes."

Sam smirked, then leaned close to Dean's ear to whisper, "Not anymore. Now I just tell you what to do."

Dean blushed and ducked his head, a sight Sam found too adorable to resist pressing a kiss to a flushed cheek.

Once he finished feeding the dog, Bobby threw some steaks on the grill. Best thing Sam had tasted in ages, and Dean seemed to agree, but he also snuck a few bites to Jimbo when Bobby wasn't looking. He wanted to say something about the dog liking Dean even if he didn't bribe him into levels of adoration, but he held his tongue. Nothing about the curse had eased Dean's self-esteem issues. Hell, it had reinforced the whole idea he was little more than a pretty face no one could ever really care about. Except Sam did. Far more than he should.

Dean cleared the table, then busied himself washing the few dishes they'd used. Bobby nodded toward the living room and Sam followed. "Should be safe enough to leave Dean alone with Jimbo," he said once they were well out of Dean's earshot. "But I think this first time it'd be best if one of us was close by."

Sam nodded, then saw the discomfort in Bobby's face. Man obviously thought he should give Sam a break and take a turn on voyeur-guard duty. Sam appreciated the thought, but no. "I'm used to it," he said with a shrug.

Bobby looked relieved. "I cleared the books out of one of the rooms, turned it back into a guest bedroom. You boys'll have to decide if you want to share the bed, but it'll give you some privacy."

He nodded.

"All finished," Dean announced as he entered the room with Jimbo on his heels.

"Thanks," Bobby said, then added, "Think I'll take a little walk."

Dean nodded, but worried his lower lip as Bobby escaped into the junkyard.

Sam gripped his brother's shoulders and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "He's just trying to make this easier on you, baby," he whispered, then gave Dean a smile. "No father likes thinking of his kid having sex."

That made Dean smile slightly. Sam slipped an arm around his shoulders, then guided Dean into the cleared out room. A king-sized bed filled most of it, but there was a thick soft rug laid out in front of the closet and Jimbo quickly made himself at home on it.

Again something inappropriate popped into Sam's head – _your marriage bed awaits_ – and he kept his mouth shut by giving Dean another forehead kiss. Neither of them spoke as Dean heeled off his boots then let Sam undress him, but once naked he leaned heavily into Sam. "Is it stupid to be nervous about my first non-one-night stand?" Dean asked after a few moments.

Sam smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

"'kay."

He guided Dean over to the rug, then his hand shifted to the back of his brother's neck. "Down, Dean," he commanded.

Ever obedient, Dean went to his knees, but before he could shift onto all fours, Jimbo rolled over onto his back, displaying his stomach and his still sheathed cock. Apparently the dog had spent enough time with Dean that he didn't immediately associate him with sex. "Get him interested, baby," Sam ordered.

Dean settled on the rug beside the dog, then began rubbing the soft fur and skin of Jimbo's belly. The dog wiggled happily, and Dean smiled, his scratching fingers moving lower and lower. The pink tip of Jimbo's cock peaked out of the sheath and Dean shifted to run his finger over the gleaming flesh.

"Suck him, bitch. Drive him wild with your mouth so he'll pound your cunt until you scream."

"Oh, God," Dean panted, his tongue darting out to replace his fingers, coaxing the cock free. The moment a few inches showed, he took the cock fully into his mouth, sucking until Jimbo began squirming and whining.

"Enough, bitch! Offer him your cunt."

Dean pushed up, then settled onto his hands and knees in his usual wanton sprawl of limbs, his cock dripping and his cunt gleaming with beads of want.

Jimbo scrambled to his feet, then mounted Dean, his forelegs locking around Dean's waist. He began thrusting, his cock hitting all around Dean's hole, but not quite finding it. Dean whimpered in frustration, and Sam moved over to help. He caught Jimbo's cock on its next stroke, then guided it home and Dean rewarded his efforts with a loud moan of pleasure.

Hips thrusting with wild enthusiasm, Jimbo pushed deeper and deeper into Dean, knotting them up within seconds. He kept at it for several minutes and Sam's cock twitched happily as he pictured all the dog spunk pulsing into Dean's cunt. "That’s it, bitch, take his seed. Let him breed your belly until it's ripe with his puppies." The image made his own cock twitch so painfully that he unzipped his jeans and pulled it free.

With a groan Dean spilled his release onto the rug, then hardened again as Jimbo turned, settling his ass against Dean's. Sam loved this part almost as much as the rutting, watching Dean's ass muscles working the cock buried in him, his own cock always spilling at least once more at the seed flowing into him. "Such a beautiful bitch," Sam sighed, coming all over his hand.

Jimbo took Dean three times with little more than a few minutes of licking himself and Dean clean in between. When he pulled free after the third time, he settled more comfortably onto the rug, and Sam knew they were done for at least an hour or so. But the dog would probably want Dean several more times before the night was over. Not much sense in a bath, he decided and got Dean's plug out of his duffle bag.

He slipped the plug into the slick heat of his brother's body, then picked him up off the floor and carried him over to the bed. A damp cloth took care of what had spilled before unyielding rubber had stopped the flow, then he gently stroked Dean's jaw with a finger. "You want anything, baby?"

Fairly out of it as he always was after a fucking, Dean murmured, "Nap."

"Okay." He kissed Dean's forehead. "Sleep well."

He turned to leave, but Dean whimpered immediately reclaiming his attention. "What's wrong?"

"Stay with me," he whispered, weakly tugging at Sam's wrist.

Not minding the sound of that at all, Sam stretched out next to his brother, then grinned when Dean snuggled up against him. They never bothered with separate beds again.

*

They stayed with Bobby for two weeks before heading out to deal with a banshee stirring up trouble near Wichita, Kansas. Had no less than four clients in the area wanting Dean to service their dogs, so they stuck around for another week – although Sam moved them into a much nicer hotel. They still used the cheap-shit dives for hunts when blood and gore stains were likely, but he figured his brother deserved the comforts of expensive sheets and a jacucci tub when his ass was busy paying all their bills. Besides it made the post-fuck ritual easier to manage.

Sam always carried Dean out of a client's home, then did so again when moving from the car to their room. He laid Dean down on the bed, then went to fill the tub with nice hot water. While waiting for it to be ready, he arranged a couple of fluffy towels on the floor to protect their knees.

Once everything was ready, he helped Dean out of his clothes, then carried him into the bathroom. Dean was always aware enough by this time to walk on his own, but Sam liked having him in his arms, and Dean had admitted long ago he liked the manhandling. 

He settled Dean on the towel, then pulled out the butt plug holding in the dog spunk. A warm wash cloth over Dean's thighs and ass always made him squirm a little, but he seemed to like even this attention. When Sam had gotten him all nice and squeaky clean, he lifted Dean into the tub for a long soak in the hot, bubbling water. In the beginning that had ended things until it was time to get Dean out of the tub, but his brother had eventually coaxed Sam into joining him with a series of pouts and hopeful looks cast up through long eyelashes. So Sam settled into the tub and Dean used him as a back rest.

They indulged for the forty or so minutes it took for the water to cool, then it was fluffy towels over sculpted muscles followed by another ride in Sam's arms back to the bed they shared. Same ritual – with details added as time went on – Sam had used to pamper Dean since almost the day Pepe had taken Dean's virginity, but something felt off tonight.

After being fucked stupid for almost three solid weeks, not to mention pampered and petted, Dean should be purring, but he seemed almost melancholy. He finally couldn't stand the though of his Dean unhappy for a moment longer. "What's wrong, baby?"

For a moment he feared Dean wouldn't answer, but a soft whisper finally answered him, "I miss kissing."

Sam started to protest he kissed Dean all the time, but his brain stopped him with a pointed _he doesn't mean that kind of kissing!_ Before this all started he'd have said his brother was a kissing-as-a-means-to-an-end sort of guy, but he'd also have said Dean wasn't a snuggler and time had proved him very wrong on that point. Okay, then.

He shifted so Dean eased off, then under him. "I can fix that," he answered, then pressed his lips to Dean's. His brother's lips yielded immediately, and Sam groaned at how good Dean tasted, while Dean made little happy sounds, too.

Their tongues danced together for long minutes, then Sam withdrew and began kissing every inch of Dean's face and neck, before swooping back to reclaim his sweet mouth. Sam began to harden as they kissed, but didn't pay his selfish flesh much attention as this was about Dean, not him – even if he was thoroughly enjoying ravishing his brother's gorgeous mouth.

He didn't know how much time passed, but Dean began to wiggle, then squirmed out from beneath him. "What?" Sam asked, seeking the lost lips.

Dean bent down and kissed him some more for another lost span of time, then he began to move his attentions to Sam's neck. Sam's hands caressed his brother even as Dean teased his nipples, his bellybutton, his abs, then – Sam started at the kiss against the head of his cock, then grabbed hold of Dean's arms to stop him. "We can't," he groaned. "We're brothers."

A pure 'you have lost your fucking mind' look settled on Dean's face. "Sammy, I'm a doggie prostitute and you're my pimp. I'm pretty sure we have a corner of special hell all reserved for us no matter what else we do, so shut up and let me blow you."

Oh, right. Couldn't argue with that. He let go. Dean fell upon him with enthusiastic speed, licking and sucking like Sam's cock was his favorite thing in the universe. Sam didn't last more than a few minutes under the onslaught. "Dean!" he shouted a warning, which only made Dean suck harder.

Dean's talented tongue milked every drop from Sam's cock, then he shifted up onto one elbow to give Sam a self-satisfied smirk. It took Sam a few moments to recover, but when he did, he grabbed Dean, hauling him up to cover his chest like a blanket. "So good, baby," he whispered, his hand gently rubbing Dean's back. "So good."

Naturally, kissing each other stupid and a blow job got added to the ritual.

*

A cursed medallion had found itself into the collection of a museum-wanna-be about eighty miles north of Phoenix. Damned thing was causing violent wishes to come true – several injured, two dead, one crippled for life. No one had figured out what it did and directed its powers with intent so things could have been worse, but it was only a matter of time. Fucking thing needed to be destroyed and fast. Easy enough fix – few lines of Ancient Greek and a spritz of wolfbane-infused olive oil – but like most things in Winchesterland, applying the solution to the problem was proving to be the impossible part.

They'd cased the place during business hours and had disarmed it easily enough, but for some reason no warning (and preventative) notices about a guard dog decorated the building. Which left them staring at one pissed off Rottweiler that looked all too happy at the prospect of dining on their guts.

Concentrating on slowly easing between his brother and the snarling beast, Sam almost missed the soft, "Sammy, go take care of the medallion."

He almost snorted, then blinked in surprise when the dog stopped snarling and sniffed the air. He got it instantly. _"He's_ the right sort of dog? No fucking way." Yeah, he could believe the monster would happily fuck Dean, but he'd be equally happy to rip out his throat during the afterglow which made him the worst sort of dog.

Dean tugged on his arm. "You'll find a way to save me," he said with utter confidence. "Now get ready to go."

"Dean, no!" he snapped, furious – at his brother for being a suicidal maniac and at himself for not bringing a gun for the now moronic reason of wanting to claim malicious mischief versus armed robbery if they got caught.

"Sorry," Dean muttered and the sound of jeans hitting the floor put an end to the argument.

The Rottweiler raced for Dean, mounting him before Sammy could do a thing. "Sam, go!" Dean ordered, given the situation, a ludicrous reminder that he was 1) the man in charge when they were in the field and 2) Sam needed to get over it before the dog finished fucking him and things got really ugly.

Enraged, but defeated, Sam ran for the small gallery room. It took him three minutes to deal with the godforsaken lump of bronze. Hunt successfully completed he looked around wildly trying to find some way to save his brother. He had a knife, of course, but it was a small one – again to avoid any armed robbery charges – and fighting off the dog with it would get really ugly. He'd risk it in a second for Dean, but knew he couldn't count on his idiot brother to escape while Sam dealt with the dog. No, what he needed was reach, something like … yeah, that would work.

He ran over to the suit of armor on display and yanked the lance free, then hotfooted it back into the office area where the Rottweiler had already turned. Dean's moan made him curse because apparently the dog's cock was big enough to have made his brother come so hard he had the glazed look that said 'in my happy place now, please leave a message.' Figured. Fucking curse had transformed Dean into a bitch, and there was always an element of danger in a mounting, so it didn't surprise him that mating instinct had overwhelmed survival.

The dog growled at Sam, which suited him fine. Far better to have the beast's attention on him and the lance than on the vulnerable ass the dog currently occupied. He bared his own teeth in challenge and growled low in his throat. Let the damned thing's instinct go towards fighting for instead of hurting his bitch.

Dean groaned loudly – a sound not totally of pleasure – as the dog yanked free and leapt at Sam. Even with the lance ready, nothing short of his hunter's reflexes saved him. He swung it up so the jaws locked on it instead of his flesh. The heavy wood creaked under the powerful blow, but stayed in one piece. The dog tossed his head trying to free his jaws from the weapon. Almost pulled the lance from Sam's hands, but he held on tight and swung, hurtling the dog into the manager's office. He got across the room and the door shut before the dog could recover.

With a howl of rage the dog threw himself against the fairly flimsy door. It wouldn't last long, and Sam had to fight a sense of panic as he raced to his brother's side. He flung Dean up into a fireman's carry, running before the weight even settled across his shoulders. In a moment not straight out of some low-budget movie, the office door had not given way before he got the two of them outside and into the Impala.

His heart racing wilder than the last time they'd faced down a nest of rawheads, Sam fought the instinct to floor it as he drove back to the hotel. No need, he told himself. Safe. Dean was safe. Almost as if he knew what Sam needed, Dean managed to rouse himself enough from the afterglow to shift around and curl up against Sam.

It calmed him a little, but his hands were shaking when he carried Dean into the room, and he barely managed to not throw Dean onto the bed. Instead he sat him down with exaggerated care. Even in a stupor, Dean didn't miss the change.

"Sammy," he whimpered reaching for him. "Don't be mad. Had to."

The words could have been meaningless, but suspicion flared to life. "You did something," he growled. "No way that was the right kind of dog." Shouldn't have been able to smell Dean, and Sam knew he'd used Bobby's dog-off because Sam was the one who always applied it. "Damnit, Dean, what the fuck did you do?"

Dean flinched and curled into a miserable little ball. "Figured out how to rub the wolfhead to cancel scent-blocker," came the muffled answer.

"Why the fuck would you do something like that?" Sam roared.

Dean lifted his head and gave Sam a 'don't be fucking stupid' look, meaning he'd always known something like this could happen and he'd determined literally risking his own ass was a way to keep little brother safe.

Beyond rage, Sam grabbed him, pulling him up and tight against him. "No!" he shouted, "you don't do that anymore! I protect _you!"_

He gave Dean a shake to emphasize the point, but Dean glared back with equal heat yet his words were soft, "Always gonna protect you, Sammy. You're everything."

Sam never could remember ripping off their clothes or the exact moment he shoved his cock deep into Dean's wet ass, but when the anger and burning pain in his chest eased, he found himself thrusting hard with the same pounding speed as one of Dean's dog-suitors.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean cooed in his ear, limbs wrapped tightly around Sam's torso. "Fuck me, make me your bitch. Always, yours. Always."

He started crying, shamed at taking his brother when the curse would not allow Dean to feel pleasure at their coupling, but utterly unable to stop. God, he needed to make Dean his, to know above all the beautiful man belong to him and no one or nothing else.

Dean writhed in his arms, his legs tightening and pulling in a wordless urge for a harder pounding. "Love you, so much. My Sammy. Your bitch. Take me. God, take me."

With a broken wail Sam climaxed, spilling his seed in one quick release so unlike what Dean's body craved. He collapsed, then sobbed into his brother's shoulder while Dean caressed him whispering over and over again how much he loved Sam.

Slowly the meaning of the words penetrated and calmed Sam until he could lift up enough to look at his brother's face. Dean did not wear the look of someone fucked stupid, instead he fairly glowed with … contentment. Sam swallowed and found his voice, "Did … did you come?" Stupid to ask. This wasn't a fairy tale where True Love conquered all.

Dean gave him a soft smile. "Can't, Sammy. Doesn't mean I can't love the feel of you inside me. Feels so right." He brushed his fingers through Sam's hair. "Promise me, you'll do it again."

"Dean. …"

A kiss silenced words about taking advantage of Dean and using him for selfish pleasure. "Love you so fucking much. Feel so whole with you in me."

"God, Dean. …"

"Call me baby," Dean whispered.

"What? Why would I -?"

Dean laughed. "Knew you didn't know you were doing it." He kissed Sam some more. "'s how you say you love me."

Sam blushed, feeling like the biggest idiot in the universe. How could he have missed this? Dean was the love his life. And somehow fate had been kind enough to grant him the gift of him being the love of Dean's life. "Love you so much."

Dean's smile turned into a delighted grin. "That mean you'll make love to me again?"

"Every chance I get, baby," Sam promised. "Every chance I get."

*

They hit the Roadhouse in mid-December intent on weathering a threatened blizzard in the backroom she kept for them to crash in. A few other hunters had apparently had the same idea and sleeping bags sat at the feet of a few of the ten hunters currently enjoying Harvelle hospitality. "Hey, boys, good to see you," Ellen greeted them, "what are you having?"

"Usual," Sam answered settling on a stool with Dean taking the one to his right.

"You'll be staying, of course," she said, drawing two beers. She'd entered their lives much later than Bobby, but if he was their surrogate father, she'd taken on the mother role. Especially since she'd found out about the curse and no longer had to bristle when her daughter cast longing glances in Dean's direction.

"We'd appreciate it," Dean answered. "Looks nasty out there."

"Yep," she agreed. "Nebraska weather at its finest in the offering. Always keep the place stocked up for twice as many to hole up for two weeks." Then she leaned closer, "Hope you fellas don't mind, but I swapped out the cots in the back for a bed I got a good deal on."

Dean blushed a little, but Sam grinned. "Don't think I'll miss the cot." Much as he appreciated the gesture of having a permanent spot in the place, the damned thing had been a full foot shorter than him.

She laughed. "I figured." Another customer claimed her attention, but she returned off and on through the evening for a chat, then to draw two more beers. They were a few sips into those when the door opened and Clyde Winslow walked in.

Not one of their favorite people, but a good hunter, Sam had to give him that. Unfortunately, such grudging respect didn't seem part of Winslow's personal code. "Well, if it ain't the dog lover and his shaggy master."

Room got real quiet, real fast. Sam froze, but Dean finished the swallow he'd been in the middle of then swiveled around on his stool. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother fix the idiot with a bright smile. "Winslow, still alive and repulsive as ever, I see," he said.

With a sigh, Sam turned around in time to see the few hunters sitting at the tables placed behind Winslow move to safer regions. Even that didn't seem to clue the man in on the generally held belief that the way to a long and crippling-injury-free life was to never, ever piss off Dean Winchester. "Least I ain't a cocksucker. Worse a dog-cock sucker."

Dean shrugged. "At least I have some standards."

Sam gave him a look. Outside of Bobby and, of course, Sam, Dean had never openly acknowledged the state of his sex life to anyone. This was a _huge_ self-acceptance moment and Sam scowled at the thought he might have to buy Winslow a 'thank you' drink or something.

Winslow scoffed. "Bitch in heat has no standards."

"Ellen?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"I'm obviously going to have to teach this moron to respect my skill set. You have any objections?"

"None," she answered. "Just make certain you collect the funds for any damages before you throw his carcass out the door."

"Will do."

Even Ellen Harville's subtle warning that this would not end well for him did not make the fool wise up. "You are an abomination in the eyes of God, boy," Winslow said pulling himself up to his full height. Sam probably had a half inch on the man, but Winslow was even broader in the shoulder, thicker in the body – all muscle mass. "Be my privilege to send you to his judgment."

Dean rolled his eyes. His brother had never had much patience for the mission-from-God type of hunter. Or blowhards in general. Winslow was both and only through the grace of Dean Winchester would he walk out of here alive. With their father dead, Dean had easily been the best hunter alive even pre-curse. Post-curse he was scary good and these days his brother never, ever made the mistake of attacking in anger. "Seems to me," Dean said slowly circling around the man – something others saw as predatory but Sam recognized as Dean maneuvering Winslow to a spot where his fall would do the least damage to Ellen's place – "that if God had any objections to what I am, I wouldn't have gotten cursed in the first place."

A job hazard. Pure and simple. Every person in this room – except for Winslow – got that and knew it could have just as easily have happened to them.

Dean stopped and Sam could see two directions Winslow could go flying without wrecking a stick of furniture. Not that he'd go flying. Sam could see what would happen even before it did -- like in the _Sherlock Holmes_ movie. Winslow swung without warning, a meaty fist headed for Dean's head with enough force to do serious damage. Dean side-stepped and drove his booted-foot into the man's gut. Firm abs or not, a skilled strike by a man of Dean's size would make anyone double over. As Winslow toppled Dean brought his knee up to meet the man's face and his clenched hands down against the base of his skull. All over in three seconds flat.

Winslow lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding from the nose and out cold. Dean returned to the bar without a backward glance while Ellen snapped, "Someone throw that damned fool out of here before he stains my floor."

Couple of guys Sam knew worked with Winslow from time to time gave Dean a nod, then dragged Winslow out into the cold. None of them came back while everyone else settled into the serious business of drinking and sharing stories. Life was good.

*

As promised, the blizzard hit around 2 a.m. Five hunters plus Sam and Dean had opted to stay at the Roadhouse, and it was a pleasant enough time. Lots of shop talk and everyone took turns cooking. But by day two everyone spent at least a few minutes checking the radio and stepping outside to do a little looking around. Roads were clear enough to get through if something came up, but not to risk it for nothing. Too many stashed weapons in their vehicles to risk a slid off and needing official help.

"Probably be another two days before you can clear out," Ellen said when Sam walked back in. And she'd know given this was winter business as usual, but he could hope. Dean was starting to act twitchy, his body not used to going more than a few days without these days and it had been almost two weeks since the last time Sam had been able to hook him up.

Ellen had even started casting worried glances in his direction. Curses were tricky things and they liked being well fed. By the next morning Sam was ready to risk the roads even if the Impala wasn't the best car on ice, but the arrival of a man who looked more like a redheaded lumberjack than a hunter put that idea to rest.

"Christ, I need a drink," Calvin Harper announced, knocking the snow from his boots before walking fully into the room.

"Usual?" Ellen asked already reaching for the whiskey.

He nodded, grabbing up the glass the moment she set it down on the bar. He downed it in one long swallow, then gestured for a fill up.

"How are the roads?" Sam asked hoping Harper's arrival meant the roads were clear.

"A right bitch. Even with the four-wheel drive I almost ran off the road a dozen times." He gave Ellen a smile. "I'm hoping I can impose on a corner of your lovely oh-so-not slick floor for a night or two."

She nodded. "More the merrier."

"You are a lifesaver as well as a lovely woman." He downed the drink, and she poured a third with a roll of her eyes. Apparently fortified, he settled back, then considered Sam and the brother sulking to his right. "Good to see you two boys."

"You, too," Sam answered, and Dean rallied enough to give him a nod of greeting before settling back into his funk.

Harper laughed. "Well, I guess the rumors I've been hearing about you are true, Dean."

Dean shrugged, but Sam gave him a look. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked wondering if he needed to gear up for a fight.

A large hand raised in a quelling gesture. "Got a partner of my own looking a lot like your brother right now."

"Partner?" Harper had always been the work-alone-no-matter-what sort.

"Yeah, I decided watching my own back was getting tiresome, so I picked up Serge a few months back."

"So where is he?" Ellen asked. It was damned cold outside for someone to be having a smoke in the parking lot.

"Doing a few laps around the building to burn off some steam. Christ, I don't know what was worse – the roads or being cooped up with him." He gave Dean another look. "Doesn't handle not getting a pretty piece of tail well."

Dean grumbled under his breath and sulked even harder. Sam glared at Harper with his best 'I have to deal with his moods so don't provoke him' glare.

Harper chuckled. "Couldn't get him fixed – castration can take that fighting edge off, you know."

Okay, this was either very promising or deeply disturbing. "A dog? You're partner's a dog?"

"Irish Wolfhound – big as they come and one hell of a hunter."

Dean perked up, but didn't say anything like the good bitch he was.

Harper smiled. "Anyway, Sam, with your and Ellen's permission, I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd let your boy take the edge off."

Sam nodded, then looked to Ellen. Bedroom wasn't big enough – barely room for the bed -- but she said, "You can use the storeroom."

"I thank you and Serge would if he could."

"Just go get him," Ellen muttered, but before Harper could make it across the room, Ash said, "You know, I wouldn't mind watching." He shrugged. "You know eyes on details of the curse."

A couple of the other hunters nodded while they all looked intrigued – stories could only cure so much boredom. And all eyes fell on Sam.

He studied his brother's face as well as he could out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to embarrass Dean by either pretending it wasn't Sam's decision or by forcing him into something he wasn't entirely sure Dean was ready to admit about himself. But slowly over the last year, Dean had moved closer and closer to a bitch mentality of whenever or wherever a stud wanted him. What little he could see showed no signs of a blush merely impatience and a hell of a lot of hunger.

"Clear out a spot over there and put some blankets down," he said nodding toward a well-lit area in the center of the room. Be a good view for all. Jo was the only one who left, but her bedroom door didn't quite manage to close all the way.

He asserted his ownership as he always did by stripping off Dean's clothes, then guiding him over to the blankets. "Down," he ordered as the door opened and Harper brought Serge in. God, that wasn't a dog, it was a small horse.

Dean must have had a similar thought because he whimpered, a sound full of hunger not fear. The sound immediately got the huge dog's attention and he bounded over to Dean. His snout went straight for Dean's cunt, sniffing deeply like drawing in the scent of the finest perfume. No more like chocolate as in the next moment he began to lick, fucking Dean with his tongue while the man squirmed and tried to impale himself even deeper. The first of several orgasms shuddered through Dean, and Sam wondered yet again how bad a curse that made a man capable of multiple-orgasms could really be, then wondered what that said about his priorities.

Apparently satisfied with the tasting, Serge mounted Dean, his huge body engulfing Dean's, and again Sam worried, but before he could protest a quick thrust sent cock plunging into Dean. His cunt yielded easily and Dean came again, prompting amazed murmurs and a few jealous looks. Hey, Sam's priorities might be screwed up, but apparently he wasn't alone.

Dean did cry out in pain as the huge knot breeched him, but he also came and quickly settled into the usual enthusiastic moaning and groaning Sam associated with happy little bitch, so he didn't panic. Instead he settled in for the show. And numerous encores. Serge had a voracious appetite for cunt and Dean seemed eager to indulge him, happily humming away during the long periods of knotting. A full two hours of fucking slipped by before the two sluts broke apart and seemed ready for a respite. Serge took a few moments to half-heartedly clean up Dean, then settled onto the blankets for a nap.

Sam walked over to his brother and without any hesitation slipped the butt plug into place. He snagged up Dean's shirt and pulled that onto him, but didn't bother to button it before swooping Dean up into his arms and carrying him over to the nearest table. He sat in the chair and settled Dean in his lap.

Ellen brought him over a beer, then another which he'd almost finished before Dean roused enough to steal the remains of it. He gave his brother a fond chuckled and signaled for two mugs this time.

She brought them over, then pressed a kiss to the top of Dean's head. "Any preferences?" she asked.

Dean gave her a puzzled look. "For what?"

"Dog I'm gonna get to keep you company during your visits."

"German Shepard," he answered without hesitation. "A fluffy one."

She chuckled. "I'll see what I can do." She gave him another kiss, then ruffled his hair before heading back to the bar.

Sam watched Dean drink his beer for a few minutes then, still a little worried about the size of the cock Dean had been entertaining, asked, "You okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've got a naked ass hanging out that's full of rubber and dog jiz. Our surrogate parents are enabling my weird sex life. And you're using my naked body to hide how turned on you get by pimping me out to dogs. I'm just peachy."

Sam laughed. "You really are." Then he kissed Dean on the mouth. With tongue. Absolutely no one looked surprised.

end

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ 5/31/2010


End file.
